Star Trek: Such Stuff as Dreams are Made On
by Gilbert H. Karr
Summary: The Enterprise is on its last easy mission before three weeks of shore leave, before a visit by Starfleet brass, a run in with an old enemy, and a diplomatic mission that may, at any moment, turn into anything but, promise to set the Enterprise crew on one of the most difficult missions of their careers. How much is real and how much is dream? All Chapters complete. Please R and R.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a re-write of a story published on this site years ago, a story that wasn't where I wanted it to be, at that time, and so, I simply stopped until I could work with my beta to get it where I wanted it to be. I think it finally is there, so I am posting the first chapter here. Many thanks to Lil Black Dog for the beta read (which took place long ago) and the support, encouragement, and friendship she has shown me. Life has kept me busy, but I hope the fans of this series will read and enjoy this version of the story. It probably still isn't perfect, and to that end, I welcome constructive comments. Thanks for stopping by. Please read and review. I don't write Slash. I don't own or profit. **

Chapter 1

Darkness, like a thick velvet blanket, stretches as far as the eye can see, a suffocating void that leaves no room for shadows. Tiny pinpoint lights fight valiantly to dispel the gloom, with fleeting success. Thus the ancient battle between hyperborean darkness and conflagratory light continues, and each sometimes gives and sometimes gains ground. Neither the engines, nor the normal noise of day to day ship life can be heard down here, and the eldritch silence is jarring to both mind and body.

Lieutenant Kevin Thomas Riley stands alone on the lower observation deck, hands in pockets, barely registering the stars that streak by while the ship travels in the cold vastness of space. The ship has started feeling small of late, and he has come to the observation deck in hopes of regaining some perspective. He just can't seem to stay out of trouble. First, there was the incident last year where he had caught the disease that came from Psi 2000, and, thinking himself the Captain of the ship, had regaled the crew with his version of "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen" after locking Commander Scott out of Engineering and shutting down the engines. He'd been a navigator then. About six months after that, he had been kicked back down to Engineering without any explanation of what he might have done wrong. He had been poisoned, and overheard Doctor McCoy logging his exam in the ship's computer. It was then that he had discovered that Kodos, The Executioner, and the man who had killed Riley's family was aboard, and Captain Kirk had to talk him out of trying to kill Kodos with a phaser. Kirk had assured him that neither of those two things would be held against him, since he had not been fully in possession of his faculties in either instance. He had done everything he could do to redeem himself, even done everything Dr. McCoy wanted him to, in order to recover from the ordeal, but still he could not let go of the embarrassment.

He felt the eyes of the crew on him whenever he was in their presence. He had the feeling that neither the crew nor the officers of the ship trusted him any longer, though none had said anything to that effect. Since he did not know what he had done to cause any of these feelings, he had no clue how to repair the situation. So, he had been doing his job to the best of his ability, hoping things would improve, but feeling more isolated every day. He had come here to get past that, to make peace with himself, and to regain some perspective on his chosen path by appreciating again the extremes of space—the vastness, the cold beyond cold, the darkness more than darkness. He turned to the large windows, staring out at the points of light that streaked past the ship, disappearing once again, but leaving a ghost of light behind them. Standing in awe of the terrible beauty of the universe stretching out before him, he made his decision. He would go to see Captain Kirk and request a transfer. Maybe on another ship, he could start again. There was no changing his record, he knew that, but perhaps on a ship where he was not well known, he could at least earn the respect of the rest of the crew.

Riley dazedly walked to Kirk's quarters, unaware of the lateness of the hour, or of anything, except the urgency of his situation. He half heartedly knocked on the door to Kirk's cabin, and heard a puzzled "come" as the door slid open to admit him. " ," Kirk said evenly, eyeing the man with some curiosity, "is there something on your mind?" Suddenly realizing where he was, and what he had just done, Riley came to attention. "I apologize for the interruption, sir," he said, formally. "I came to—" and he choked, trying to get the words out. He recovered and said, "I came to ask for a transfer, sir."

"Why, Mr. Riley? I thought you liked serving on the Enterprise."

"I do sir." Riley could not meet Kirk's eyes. "It's just that—well—I"

"You what, Mr. Riley?"

"Even you have to admit that my service lately has not been up to the usual standard."

"I don't have to admit any such thing."

"I feel as though no one trusts me anymore."

Kirk's eyes narrowed, and he moved toward his desk, careful not to make any sudden moves that might startle Riley. Without a word, he sat down behind his desk, touching one of its many buttons as he did so. The button he touched would silently summon Doctor McCoy from sickbay. This was a signal they had worked out long ago, and it had stood them both in good stead more than once. He motioned Riley to sit, too.

"So, you just plan to run away, is that it?"

"I am not running away. I just don't want to be where my talents are no longer appreciated."

Kirk looked his young navigator in the eyes, trying to decide if the man had had too much to drink. Deciding for the moment that he was not sure, he spoke again, very quietly.

"Do you know what it means to be a bridge officer, Mr. Riley?"

"I think so, sir."

"What does it mean?"

"It means that I see things that some other members of the crew don't ever get to see. I've never seen my bridge service as anything other than a privilege, sir."

"Yet you want to leave it behind and transfer somewhere else, where you might not have the seniority you've earned here. Depending on how many navigators they have, it might be quite a while before you even see bridge duty again, at least on the main bridge."

"I know, sir." Both men were silent for a moment, and then Kirk spoke again.

"The difficult part of being on the bridge is that the rest of the crew sometimes sees you as an elite group, which isn't helped by the fact that you sometimes get to be where the action is, instead of waiting for it to come to you, as so many of them have to do. People, especially those in close quarters, need to entertain themselves. Unfortunately, not even starship crews are immune to jealousy or sarcasm. Most bridge officers learn to develop a pretty thick skin over the course of time." He paused, gazing intently at the young man, the power of his gaze making his navigator shrink a bit. Finally, he said, "I can't let you transfer, Kevin. Not right now. That would be tantamount to saying that I no longer had any faith in you, and it's the worst thing either of us could do for your career. I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

"If I can't transfer, I could always quit."

"I didn't have you pegged as the quitting type. I tell you what. Take some time off. Rest for awhile. Maybe talk to Dr. McCoy about it. Give it until the end of this mission, and if you still want to transfer, we'll talk about it again." The Captain's tone was not quite pleading. Kevin thought for a moment, but there was really no question that he owed this Captain that much anyway. He doubted his perspective would change, but he would wait.

"All right. Fine. Until the end of the mission." Right on cue, the door chime sounded.

"Glad to hear that, Kevin. Thank you. Now, I meant it when I said I want you to see Dr. McCoy. I just want to make sure there isn't something else going on here." While he was speaking, Kirk pressed the release to open the door. McCoy walked in, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"Like what?"

"You never know. That's why I want you to see him. Cooperate with him, Kevin. Let him help."

Kirk glanced at his Chief Medical Officer, and the look spoke volumes. The young man stood to leave, and McCoy moved to stand next to him. They left the Captain's quarters together, and moved off down the hall toward sickbay.

(0o0)

Commodore Thavalan sat at her desk, engrossed in the schedule she attempted to rearrange. Data pads covered the top of her desk in the lab, and she felt slightly boxed in. She wondered, not for the first time, when exactly she had gone from solving the scientific puzzles of the universe and writing articles for scientific journals to rearranging the schedules of other people and keeping the department's paperwork running smoothly. Was it really for this that she had given up a prestigious planet-side posting at the Andorian Medical Conservatory? She felt contentment enough with the path her career had taken over the years; she was simply accustomed to a bit more adventure in her life. Pulling herself from her reverie, and shaking her head to clear it of the cobwebs rapidly gathering there, brought on by too much paperwork and too little stimulation, she decided to take a walk. Raising a hand slowly from the desk, she gently massaged her temples, as though trying to rub a headache away.

She cut quite a striking figure, her turquoise blue skin a nice contrast against snow white hair that stood naturally spiky on top, and fell to her shoulders. Her long, slender ears tapered to graceful points, which meant that her hearing was superb. Though delicate and small, her lean and powerful build served as a constant reminder that she came from a breed of warriors, though these days they chose to fight only when battle was unavoidable, or when they had a quarrel with a particular person or people. This build of hers prompted those at Starfleet Academy to encourage a career in security for the young cadet, but although she would not balk at defending the lives of herself and others, she was, first and foremost, a scientist.

Young by today's standards for her race, she looked no more than thirty five, by earth standards, and few could believe her true age, even when she told them. The first of her race to achieve the rank of Commodore, and one of the few females who had managed to earn that rank, since earning it seemed to require command of a ship; she took care to enjoy the privileges of that rank. She wore the higher ranks well, since she was a take charge type of person. Over the years, she had earned the reputation of being an outstanding doctor and she had long ago earned the grudging respect of those under her command. She knew that many in Starfleet and beyond regarded her as a strict and demanding leader, but a good one nonetheless. She asked no one to work harder or do more than she asked of herself, and she seemed to have a knack for knowing when to apply the spurs to get the work ahead done, and when to sit back and simply enjoy the ride, allowing those under her the chance to do their jobs and learn from their mistakes.

She made a lap of the entire Starfleet Headquarters Laboratory Complex, lost in her continued meditations about her life and the meaning of the work she performed now. She did important work, managing a staff of two hundred thirty medical personnel at the medical complex in Starfleet headquarters alone, not to mention Starfleet's magnificent medical research facilities, complete with twenty two state of the art laboratories, nor the countless hospitals on an untold number of worlds and inside an inordinately large number of ships, of which she was in charge. Her heart stirred with some seldom acknowledged emotion, and she realized then that she truly took pride in the work she was doing. Still, she sometimes longed to be back in the field, where there was a surprise behind every newly discovered species, mysteries in every wandering step, and always new things to see and to learn. She missed that.

She turned a corner and found herself just down the corridor from her office, with no recollection of the path she had taken to arrive there. Chiding herself for not paying better attention, she turned quickly into her office and stopped, just inside the doorway, surprised to see her new assistant, Lieutenant something-or-other Clark waiting for her there. Quickly schooling her features to neutrality, and not uttering a word, she moved to the food synthesizer and ordered some tea, then made her way to her desk. She motioned the lieutenant to rest easy, and then sat down, facing him, behind her desk. Reaching into her desk drawer, she removed a small pot of Argelian honey, spooned a very small amount into her tea, and stirred briskly. She then took a small sip, swallowed, and leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving the lieutenant seated across from her, who seemed to shrink a little more each moment that she sat watching him.

"Tea, Lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

"Would you like some tea, Lieutenant?"

"Oh. No thank you, sir." He looked at her uneasily, as if he feared she was about to turn into some dangerous creature of the night, stalking and devouring those who strayed into her path. The look on his face made her want to laugh, but she carefully concealed the amusement that threatened to show on her face. Her reputation preceded her, and the young man, fairly new to the Headquarters Office, had not yet learned to balance reputations with their living counterparts. She found the reputation useful, at least until those she commanded got to know her better, and so, she worked to protect it.

"You needed to see me, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. I mean—yes, sir. I think so, sir."

"At ease, soldier," she said, eyes twinkling with mischief. She gave him a moment to compose himself. He breathed a sigh of relief. She finally said, "Suppose you tell me why you are here."

"Admiral Komack wants to see you, sir. He buzzed while you were out, and asked that I have you report to his office immediately upon your return. He is waiting for you there now, sir." The sir was supposedly an honorary title, bestowed on women who had achieved rank in Starfleet, and a throwback to the ancient seafaring practices from which much of Starfleet tradition had come. She had never liked it, but for now, chose to let it go.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She started for the door. Then she turned back to the young man. "Oh, and Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You always have permission to come and see me for something important. Like this. Okay?"

He smiled in relief. "Yes, sir."

Giggling only loud enough for herself to hear, she walked down the hallway, strode into the lift, and commanded it to take her to the Admiral's office. By the time she arrived, any trace of her former amusement was gone, and her features were once again pleasant but without expression. She knocked on the open door, waiting there for the Admiral to notice her. He sat deeply engrossed in a discussion on subspace link with someone, and his expression, though quite unreadable, waxed somber. She waited at the door until he noticed her. Motioning her inside, he thanked the person on the other end of the comm.-link, and closed the channel.

"Commodore Thavalan reporting as ordered, sir."

"Sit down, Dar." That was not her real name, of course, but she had shortened it when she served on Earth, years ago, because the humans had no hope of pronouncing her real name. Then, when she moved on, the name moved with her, having been entered into her Starfleet record as a nickname, so she simply kept it. She sat down, as requested, and sat studying the Admiral, trying to divine some clue from his countenance as to what all of this was about. "You've been telling me how much you miss being out in the field. Are you up for another adventure out there?"

"What kind of adventure, sir?"

"A top secret mission. One for which we require a doctor of command grade or higher, with a top level security clearance, who has experience in deep space psychology and experience in a command capacity aboard a starship." She fit that profile, along with about three other people in all of Starfleet. She was the only one working at the headquarters office. "I need an answer before I show you the file."

"All right. Yes, I am."

"Good. The file is biometric, so if you wouipld be so kind…" He handed her a heavy file book, and she placed her right forefinger on the proper spot. The computer copied it, compared it to the fingerprint on file for her, and then released the lock on the file. Sliding it open, she read silently for twenty standard minutes, while the Admiral sat watching her, before she finally looked up.

"All right. If you would explain the mission, please." He spent the better part of the next hour doing just that. When he finished, she asked, "Why does Starfleet think there's an issue?"

He handed her a record tape. "You will find the details here. Understand, we cannot afford to ignore this. Starfleet Command is feeling pressure from the major Federation constituencies to investigate. We are talking about the flagship of the fleet—the best of the best, and the youngest man ever to make Captain. Some would have said too young. Some have. Plus, Vulcan has a stake in this because their first native son is a member of the senior staff. Those are tremendous forces being brought to bear on the Federation to be sure of the outcome here. Can you imagine the field day there would be among member planets if it were to come out later that there had been a problem and we didn't investigate it?"

"Oh pooh, pooh, pahdoo. Yes, I can imagine that, and I even understand where they are coming from, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. As you said, we are talking about the best ship in the fleet. Don't you think they would know if something was wrong?"

"That's what we need you to find out. Look at it this way, Commodore, if there is something wrong, you are the one best equipped to handle any problems, and if there isn't something wrong, your investigation will prove that, so that there can be no dispute. You are protecting their reputations."

"Hmmm. All right. I'm intrigued, frankly. What's my cover?"

"An inspection of the ship's sickbay, first. Then, an extended observation of the ship's crew, for whatever reason you determine." He held out a small box. Taking it from him, she opened it and looked inside. The box contained several data tapes.

"For what purpose are these to be used?"

"That will be made apparent on the data tape as well." He smiled. "Ready?"

"Not quite. One more question. If this is a top secret mission, what orders do you intend to send to the ship?"

"None. You can best explain what you are doing there in person, and I am sure you can understand why it is best not to give the ship too much advanced notice. The only potential problem is how to get you aboard."

"Leave that to me, but be prepared to back me up if I need you."

"Of course. Any more questions?"

"No sir."

"Good."

"Give me a little time to pack and plan, and I'll be on my way."

"All right. Thank you, Dar. We are counting on you. Godspeed."

Commodore Thavalan left Admiral Komack's office, and made her way down the corridor and the floor that separated her office from his. She nodded to the young Lieutenant as she passed his desk, making a mental note to make a greater effort to learn his given name when she returned from this mission. She saw him flinch as she stopped and turned around.

"Lieutenant, I will be leaving tomorrow for—well, personal business. I don't know how long I'll be gone. You are in charge of this office while I am away. If there's anything you can't answer, pass it to Admiral Miller, or as a last resort, Admiral Komack. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Thank you Lieutenant. I will see you when I return."

She felt her knees beginning to buckle as she stood there, so without another word, she stalked into her office, locking the door behind her. She sank down in the chair behind her desk, overcome temporarily by a moment of dizziness. When it passed, she opened a comm. link at her desk and told the lieutenant to see to it that no one disturbed her. Rolling her chair over to a cabinet at the other end of her office, she opened it and withdrew an old fashioned black medical bag. Rummaging inside, she brought out a surprisingly modern hypo spray and an empty ampoule. Attaching the vial to the spray, she changed the setting. Slowly and deliberately, she rolled up her sleeve, every effort costing her precious energy. Harnessing every scrap of will that remained within her, she squeezed a stress ball until a vein popped out at the crook of her arm, and then she touched the hypo spray to the vein, wincing slightly as she watched her lifeblood flow into the vial. When it was full, she removed it. Thank God it hadn't happened in Komack's office, or in front of Lieutenant what's-his-name. As of now, no one else knew anything about her condition.

(0o0)

Dar awakened some time later when her superb hearing picked up a knock on her door. She heard the Lieutenant's voice calling to her through the door, and just had time to sweep the vial and the hypospray into her knee drawer and lower her sleeve before she heard keys in the lock. Fixing her best steely command glare on her face, she stood waiting for him to come in. The door opened and the lieutenant stopped in his tracks when he saw the look on her face. She spoke before she gave him the opportunity.

"Lieutenant, I trust you understand the meaning of the words, 'Do not disturb.'"

"Yes, sir, I do." He lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Then I assume you have a good reason for disobeying orders by coming in here."

"Yes, sir. Admiral Komack had his aide deliver this data disk to me, and he told me that you must have this information before you leave."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Leave it there on the corner of the desk." He laid it down very carefully, and moved tentatively toward the door, shoulders hunched slightly as if eager to escape before being raked over the coals again. _Enough is enough, _she thought.

"Lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

"You did the right thing, coming to tell me of this. That's the mark of a good officer—knowing when to disobey orders just as well as knowing when to obey them. Well done. You will make a fine senior officer one day, son."

"Thank you, sir."

"One more thing, Lieutenant. Next time, call me first."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"You are learning very well what I expect. Don't you let anyone steal you away while I am gone. I don't want to see anyone else in that chair out there when I get back. Understand?" She smiled.

"Yes, sir," he said, returning the smile.

"Why don't you call it a day?"

"Really, sir?" She nodded. "Thank you." There was a little bounce to his step when he left her office.

Reaching into her drawer, she drew out the ampoule filled with her own blood, labeled it, and then put it into the cryogenic unit with the other samples that would be tested the next day. She then repacked her black bag, careful to take the equipment she thought she would need. She knew the starship medical facilities were top of the line, but she still had a fondness for using her own things. She sat down behind her desk, placing the data disk in the slot below her viewer, and toggled the switch that allowed her to hear the message.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

_Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott sat on the sickbay diagnostic couch waiting for Dr. McCoy to finish his tests. The riotous high that he'd been on since McCoy's sedative faded fast, replaced by a pounding headache and a more than mild sense of embarrassment at the things that took place in the past two weeks. Rubbing his head, and hoping that McCoy did not notice, he thought back over what parts of the incident he remembered. It started when one of his female lieutenants touched the wrong end of a polarized probe to the matter-antimatter reactor, while he worked in the Jeffries Tube._

_The surge of energy described in the logs, perhaps somewhat inaccurately, as an explosion, sent him flying against the bulkhead, knocking him unconscious. He wound up with a concussion. Images ran through his head, as distorted as if he were looking at them through a kaleidoscope. A woman in a red dress, dancing, dead. A group of people in a circle, chanting words that had no meaning. A strange knife and blood on his hands. Furry creatures all over the ship. Try as he had over the past days, he could not sort them out. Apparently, he had worked a normal schedule for a while after the explosion, before another minor accident occurred, this one involving [a fistfight with] Klingons and caused by his own pride, brought on a relapse and landed him back in his quarters first, and then in sickbay for another round of treatment. Finally__, __in the last few hours, he had started feeling better. Dr. McCoy, wonderful during the preceding days, now tried to determine his fitness to return to duty. He hoped that McCoy allowed him to return to his quarters at least, if not immediately to duty. _

_McCoy placed the last of his instruments on the tray next to him, handed Scott two pills and a glass of water, and told Scotty to get dressed after he'd taken them and then join him in his office. That meant that he wanted to discuss something important, otherwise, he would relay the verdict then and there. Scott dressed hurriedly and then walked to McCoy's office, wondering what the doctor would tell him. He knocked lightly on the open door, and the doctor motioned him inside and to a chair, then turned back to his screen and finished downloading data into his computer from his portable tricorder. Looking up finally, with an appraising eye, he asked, "So, Scotty, how are you feeling?"_

_"Much better, Dr. McCoy," he said, almost too cheerfully. _

_"Tell me what you remember after the explosion."_

_"Na much at all, Doctor, and all a jumble." _

_"What kind of jumble?" Scott winced slightly. Here they trod dangerous ground. _

_"I'm not really sure, sir. Na much o' it is clear."_

_"Tell me what you do remember, Mr. Scott. Perhaps I can fill in some blanks for you." Scott knew from McCoy's tone that there was no choice, if he wanted to be released from sickbay any time soon, anyway._

_"I seem to remember a séance, and a dead woman, and a knife, and me with blood on my hands. I also remember these furry creatures all over the ship, who dinna like Klingons, but I think I must have dreamed that because I couldn't say where they fit into the rest of it. Can't say I disapprove o' their taste, but that was a nightmare."_

_"That was no dream, Mr. Scott. Anything else?"_

_"No sir." McCoy opened Scott's paper file, picked up a small stack of papers from the top of a larger stack on his desk, glanced at something in the file, and then slid the papers in his hand into Scott's file and closed it. Paper files were not strictly required, and, in fact, most people did not use them, but McCoy's old fashioned country doctor approach to medicine, coupled with his distrust of all types of machinery, made him desire a tangible output for his tests, 'just in case the computers crashed', he told himself, though it had been at least half a century since any computers really crashed. They might occasionally malfunction, but even then, he could generally access his files. _

_And besides, they did have Spock, their ace in the hole. The man might be immune to the charms of a beautiful woman, but those long, slender fingers were able to coax things from computers that the average person, no matter their training, couldn't. There was all kinds of love in the universe, and in Spock's case, the closest thing he'd seen to it was when the Vulcan was one with his precious data base. To each his own, he thought, but there's no accounting for taste. Maybe that's why he was always at odds with the first officer – they had two diametrically opposed views of the merits and pitfalls of technology, among other things. _

_He broke out of his reverie, and looked up as Scott spoke again. "You mean that mumbo jumbo really happened?" _

_"I'm afraid so. How does that make you feel?" That was McCoy's way of gently pushing him to talk about what had happened, while his tone let the engineer know at the same time that he would not accept any cock and bull stories. He wanted the truth, and McCoy was a man who usually got what he wanted, one way or another, when it came to his patients. Scott sat silently for a moment, staring off into the far distance, considering. _

_"Dr. McCoy, did I do anything—" he paused. He intended to say 'stupid', but stopped when he realized that was not what he really wanted to know "—embarrassing that I don't remember?"_

_"No!" McCoy growled, then softened his gruff tone and added, "No more so than the rest of us, though you might be embarrassed by some of what happened." He smiled widely. "Relax, Scotty. You__'__re among friends. We've all embarrassed ourselves at some time or other, with the probable exception of Spock, and we've survived to tell the stories long after they've become simply funny stories, and no longer painfully funny ones. If it's any comfort to you, at least you had an excuse for making a fool of yourself. You had a mild concussion, and a sedative. Also, if you did do anything __'__embarrassing__'__ as you say, the rest of the crew probably doesn't remember either. After all, the Captain ordered tranquilizers for the whole crew. What about the crewman who caused the explosion?" McCoy purposely refrained from mentioning a gender, wanting to know how Scott felt by what he said. _

_"She's a fine, wee lass, and it was an accident. I hope the Captain won't log it as __negligence and place it in her file. She's up for a promotion soon, and I'd hate to see her lose it."_

_"I'm sure Jim will consider what you have to say about the affair, Scott, but it was a mistake, however unintentional, and one that endangered the ship, and might have cost some of the crew their lives. You know the Captain. He takes these things very seriously, but whatever happens, Jim is a man who doesn't believe that any failure is permanent. He'll give her a second chance to redeem herself__."_

_"Aye, sir. I know. What about me? When can I go back to work, Doctor?"_

_"Let's say tomorrow, Mr. Scott, if you go directly to your quarters when you leave sickbay and don't come out until suppertime. I will be by to check on you later. Sometime in the next few days, I'd like to see you back here, and I want to see if we can sort out the memories in your mind into something cohesive, so you won't have to worry about them."_

_"Thank you, Dr. McCoy." In truth, Montgomery Scott did not want to talk to anyone about what he remembered and didn't remember; he'd just as soon forget the last two weeks altogether and focus on using his work to help himself heal, as McCoy had taught him. He knew that McCoy had a reason for any medical order he made, though, and the man had patched up various members of the crew too many times for Scott not to trust him. Besides, McCoy had this indefinable quality about him. Scott supposed that some just considered it part of his bedside manner, but as a member of the senior staff, who witnessed the Chief Medical Officer of the starship Enterprise in action more than once, Scotty knew that it went much deeper than that. McCoy cared about his patients to the same degree that Scotty cared about his engines, and though he might bellow at times, his anger was just another of the instruments he used to help his patients. He had a way of finding and bringing out the things that no one wanted to face, then laying a hand on a shoulder and making a joke so that the truth went down easier. In off duty hours, that sometimes even extended to sharing a drink with a patient while he felt them out. Scott came out of his reverie to find McCoy watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. _

_"Problem, Scotty?"_

_"Nae. I'm just ready to forget all of this and get back to work, if you'll let me." McCoy smiled gently._

_"I'm afraid that's impossible at the moment, Mr. Scott. Our memories, especially the jumbled ones, have a habit of coming back to haunt us, and they tend to do so at the most dangerous times. I__'__ll promise to make it as painless as possible for you, though. Let's just let them settle for a few days, first, all right?"_

_ "Aye, sir."_

_"Good boy. Now, get on over to your quarters, and I don't want to see you out at all today except at mealtimes. Call me if you need me."_

_"Yes, sir." Scotty fairly bolted from the room before the doctor had a chance to change his mind. _

"Computer?"

"Working."

"Play log entry regarding James T Kirk."

"Specify."

"Third entry," he said, choosing a random number.

"Acknowledged"

_"Lieutenant James Kirk slowly opened his eyes and was immediately inundated with the strangeness of the room he was in. Only one thing was certain—he was no longer on the ship, which is where he last remembered being. That must mean that the ship's crew was temporarily planet-side. The beeps and chirps and whirrs in the background indicated that he was in a sickbay. Other than that, he had no memory of how he'd ended up here, and no idea which sickbay he was in. _

_He tried to sit up, but found himself restrained across the chest and legs, rendering him completely unable to move. He struggled for a few moments, finally managing to wiggle one hand out from under the binding across the chest, and then it was only the work of a moment to unfasten the bonds that were restraining him and sit up. When he discovered no adverse effects from that, he leaned over and unfastened the binding across his legs. Dangling his legs over the side of the bed, he slid downward, only to have his legs turn to jelly, and dump him unceremoniously to the floor. _

_As he struggled to stand, the sickbay doors whooshed open, and a murderous voice bellowed, "You get your tail back in that bed before I sedate you." Thinking how much easier that was to say than to actually do, James Kirk took hold of the side of the bed for support, and with a Herculean effort, hauled himself upright, though he did not completely make it onto the bed. With his heart pounding in his ears, Kirk fought off a wave of dizziness, and managed to remain upright—just. He glared at the familiar face across from him with some irritation. _

_"I can't—", he began. _

_"Serves you right, far as I'm concerned__,__" the doctor barked, but he moved to help his young patient as he saw him start to fall again. "Are you out of your mind? What were you thinking?" With one hand steadying Lt. Kirk, the young doctor used his free hand to lower the bed, so James could climb back under the covers. _

_"How did you know?" Kirk asked, wondering for the millionth time since he'd known him if the doctor was telepathic. Seemed like he always knew when Kirk was up to something. _

_"I know you, Jim."_

_"What are you doing here?"_

_"Nice to see you again, too, my friend." The doctor's voice was laced with sarcasm, but for all that, it was affectionate enough. _

_"Answer me, you old sawbones." Affection belied the irritation in the lieutenant's voice as he addressed his friend. "What are you doing here?" _

_"I work here. You're the one who's visiting. Now, have you learned your lesson, or do I need to use the restraints again?"_

_"I'll behave. I promise." He looked around, trying to decide if this sickbay looked like the one where he'd first met the doctor. He couldn't tell._

_"Good. Then I'll allow you to sit up while we talk. Glad to see you're feeling better by the way. You had us worried for __a while__ there. Are you hungry?" Jim Kirk considered for a moment, and then, deciding that he was indeed very hungry, he nodded. The doctor picked up a meal card from his desk, placed the order with the synthesizers, and then, bringing the tray over and settling it in front of Kirk, he sat down in a chair next to the bed. He decided his patient was feeling better when Kirk said, "Chicken soup? That's all you have?"_

_"No, but it is likely all your body can handle right now. Eat up. You need to regain some strength." Kirk took the spoon and dipped it into the soup, then raised it to his mouth, savoring the warmth, even if synthesized food did only taste like a memory of its authentic counterpart. Watching him closely, the doctor asked, "Do you remember what happened?" Kirk paused, spoon halfway to his bowl, and thought about that question for a moment. "The last thing I remember is being on the ship, during a normal duty shift. Now, I am here, wherever here is."_

_"You don't remember being poisoned?"_

_"Poisoned? How?"_

_'That's what we are trying to figure out. All we've determined so far is that you were being poisoned for at least six weeks, and that the poison had some unusual side effects. You are a strong young man. By the time your CMO caught the illness, all they could do was bring you here."_

_"Bones, what do you mean by 'unusual side effects'?"_

_"Never mind that. You will remember when you are ready to remember. I'd like to let nature take its course on things like that." _

Captain James T. Kirk smiled slightly as he turned off the sickbay desk viewer, thinking back over that day when he tried to sneak out of Bones McCoy's sickbay, and learned that his doctor and his friend missed very little. He wondered if it would work today any better than it had then. After all, he'd been ill then, and he was in top form now. At the moment, Bones was in another area of sickbay, checking on a space sick crewman, while the Captain was in the middle of his quarterly physical. If he moved quickly, he could probably make it almost to his quarters before McCoy came back.

Mischief twinkling in his eyes, he slipped off the bed with his tunic shirt around his neck, and was out the door and down the hall in a matter of seconds. As he made his way down the hall, he thought back over that day, so many years ago, glad to know that some things hadn't changed in the intervening time, and smiling widely at McCoy's reaction when he came back and discovered that the Captain had given him the slip. He frowned a little bit as he realized that he never did learn what McCoy had meant when he told him that he'd suffered unusual side effects from the poison, and he made a mental note to ask McCoy about it later. Reaching his quarters, he punched in the code that would allow him access to his room. Still encased in his reverie, he walked inside, and was greeted by a familiar bellow.

"If you don't sit your butt down on this bed until I'm finished, I'll declare you unfit for duty and confine you to sickbay, if I have to tie you to the table in there to do it." Meekly, Jim sat down at his table, and the doctor moved over beside him, tricorder in hand.

"Bones, how did you get in here?"

"I have the magic code!" the doctor said, sarcastically.

"I don't mean that, Bones. I mean, how did you beat me to my own quarters?"

"I know you, Jim. And, you seem to have forgotten that sickbay has more than one exit. Now, I believe we have a physical to finish." Bones glowered at his Captain, and Kirk felt a little guilty for having the doctor on. He managed to look somewhat contrite. "Sorry Bones, I couldn't resist. Do we need to return to sickbay so you have access to the equipment there?" Bones' frown softened slightly. "Nah. We were almost finished anyway. The few things we had left to do I can do right here. You might find some of these tests a tad more comfortable had you stayed in sickbay, but that was your decision," he said, mollified.

"Do you remember that day when I tried to sneak out of your sickbay before?"

"Someone's been looking at the medical record tapes in the restricted section of ship's library again," McCoy said accusingly.

"As Commanding Officer of this vessel, I have a responsibility to know what is happening with every person on board," Kirk said, indignantly. Judging the doctor's mood, Kirk really did not want to ask the next question he had to ask, but there was no avoiding it. He had to know. It could mean the safety of a crewman, and therefore the ship itself, and that left him very little choice. He took a deep breath. "Bones, did Mr. Scott ever come to you to sort out his memories after his accident?"

"Dammit Jim, those are supposed to be confidential." Bones scowled at the Captain. The gruffness in his voice gave way to something more like amused frustration, and Kirk swallowed a sigh of relief. McCoy shook his head, stifling his laughter because he was not yet quite ready to forgive the Captain this little indiscretion. Actually, the Captain had the right to demand a report for every person on the ship, and McCoy had a responsibility to bring the medical issues of crew members to the Captain's attention, but looking at the tapes was treading on the edge of his authority as Captain, since some issues in those records were meant only for the CMO to see.

Still, McCoy knew Kirk well enough to know that he didn't just pry into the private lives of his crew without good reason. Instead of saying the few choice things that came to mind, things that probably only he could get away with saying to his Captain, he contented himself with filling the largest hypospray he had. Moving back across the Captain's quarters, he smiled wickedly. "Drop your pants." Kirk stared at him, not comprehending.

"What?"

"You heard me. The latest vaccine that Starfleet requires works best in the backside, so that's where it's going. Now, either you can drop trou or I can drop them for you."

"You're enjoying this," the Captain grumbled, but he unfastened his trousers and pushed them down to his knees. "You didn't answer my question" he said, more to take his mind off of what was about to happen than because he needed an immediate report. Bones was very good at his job, and Kirk knew that the doctor would tell him anything he felt his Captain needed to know.

"Why do you ask, Jim?" For all of his frustrations with the Captain's methods of information gathering, McCoy knew he did not pry into the lives of his crew members without good reason. In fact, most of the time, the record tapes the Captain perused were those involving himself. McCoy held the hypo spray to the very bottom of the small of his back, just below the waistline of his boxers, and Kirk winced as it delivered its load. "Have you seen something, Captain?"

"No, not exactly." He laid his concerns out for McCoy, and as he did so, he realized how flimsy they sounded, even to him. When he finished, McCoy regarded him with the manner of a man who had learned long ago to trust this man's instincts more than most men's witnessed observations. "I don't know, Captain. The accident was three months ago, and it's only bothering him now? I've heard of trauma cases in which patients experience problems years later, but Scotty is as grounded as they come." He chose his words carefully here. "I have trouble believing that it would be so with him. I'll stop by and talk to him, though. See what I can find out."

"Thank you, Doctor. Are we finished?"

"Almost sir."

(0o0)

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura didn't wait for the doors to her quarters to slide open all the way before she slipped inside through the widening crack. She sank down into her desk chair, slipping off her shoes as she did so. A moment later, she was up again, moving restlessly through her living quarters. She pushed the button to open up her wardrobe and selected a sarong made of brightly colored silk. Tossing it onto her bed, she then moved to the replicators and ordered some hot spiced tea. She commanded her viewer to begin a search for a book in the ship's library. Retrieving her tea, she sat down at her desk and began to read. She soon grew restless again. She couldn't concentrate on the book, or on anything else. Maybe some music would help. "Computer, Bach symphony 9 please."

As the music began, she closed her eyes, and allowed it to wash over her. Shapes began moving behind her eyelids, but it was too dark to make out anything else about them. Visions began to play out in her mind, almost like dreams turned nightmarish. It was too dark to see, but she saw red, burning eyes, evil eyes, and a swirl of red smoke followed by a high pitched voice.

Terrified, she heard herself screaming, and she tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't. Finally, the music stopped and her eyes flew open. She wasn't making a sound, but her heart beat wildly in her chest, and Uhura knew she wouldn't sleep for a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"If we shadows have offended,  
Think but this, and all is mended,  
That you have but slumber'd here  
While these visions did appear.  
And this weak and idle theme,  
No more yielding, but a dream,  
Gentles, do not reprehend;  
If you pardon, we will mend.  
And, as I am an honest Puck,  
If we have unearnéd luck,  
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,  
We will make amends ere long:  
Else the Puck a liar call.  
So good night unto you all.  
Give me your hands, if we be friends,  
And Robin shall restore amends."

Kirk stifled a yawn, and glanced at McCoy, who sat next to him. They joined the rest of the crew members in the ship's theatre in granting the request of the young, black Lieutenant and applauding the members of the crew who made up the cast of the play. The lights came up then, and the applause grew more enthusiastic while the cast took their curtain call. The play itself was one of Kirk's favorites, and this was an especially meaningful performance, partially because it was the first for the new dramatic ensemble that had recently formed aboard ship, but also because it was some sort of milestone anniversary for Shakespeare, and this script had come from Earth in a special dispatch as part of the celebration. A holovid of the performance would be sent back to Earth to be judged in a special contest, and they would receive the word on who won in just over a month.

"Nice evening, wasn't it, Captain?" McCoy said, as the applause finally died out, to be replaced by the happy noises of people leaving a place, after a good performance.

"Very nice, Bones."

"Heading for bed, soon?"

Kirk laughed. "Trying to tell me something, Doc?"

"As a matter of fact—"

The doctor broke off as he realized his Captain was no longer listening, but was instead looking at something over McCoy's right shoulder. He turned around to see what all the commotion was about, and saw that Kirk was looking at Lieutenant Uhura,( still dressed in the knee length green dress that represented the character of Puck and with a vine painted up one leg), and trying to catch her eye. She saw him looking her way, and walked over to where he still sat, half reclining in his chair, one knee bent with his foot resting on the now vacant chair in front of him. He looked tired, which was no surprise, but with everything that the ship had been through in the past weeks, she was mildly surprised that he had found the time to come.

"An inspired performance, Lieutenant," he said, smiling, as she stepped up beside him.

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad you came." She returned the smile.

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world. You've all done the ship proud. Good luck in the contest."

"Thank you, sir. Some of the crew are having a small celebration as soon as everyone has had a chance to change. It's not really a cast party, sir, as we've opened it to anyone in the crew who would like to come. Will you join us, sir?"

"Thank you for asking, Lieutenant, but I think it's past my bedtime, for tonight anyway."

"Sleep well, sir."

"Good night, Lieutenant."

(0o0)

Dar had beamed herself directly into the ship's sickbay, into what her schematics told her was a rarely used private lab, fitted for emergencies with one diagnostic bed. Quickly, she flipped on the diagnostic monitor, turning the sound all the way down, effectively muting the thing, and lay down with her feet at the head, so that she could see the diagnostic panel above her. So far, everything looked good. It was a little known secret that these tables worked both ways.

Half a second later, her sensitive hearing was assaulted by a loud, raucous screeching as the Intruder Alert sounded. She knew they would be coming through that door any minute. Sitting up and slipping off the bed in one fluid motion, she imperceptibly reached out to steady herself by holding onto the biobed and flipping the switch to turn it off at the same time. The lab doors whooshed open and two men and a Vulcan stepped through.

The one in the front was very obviously the leader. His face was lightning and thunder, and his eyes were the blue grey of storm clouds over the ocean. He would be a formidable adversary. The Vulcan stood just behind and to the right of the man in front. He stood very still and quiet, but his eyes took in everything—every aspect of the room and of the woman standing before them. His visage was more intense, if less threatening. This man could go either way.

Her eyes then shifted over to the man behind the man in front and to the left. He was staring at her with his mouth hanging open. "Dee", he whispered, and it almost wasn't even really a word so much as an exhalation of breath, but it was clear that he recognized her, and he should have. She was a patient of his, about ten years ago, in a base hospital on earth. That had started them on a path of friendship that lasted all the way to today. The man in front cut his eyes over to the man on his left, and slightly behind. There was no thinking that he hadn't realized what the man behind him said.

Motioning the man to step up next to him, he said, "Doctor, you know this person?"

"Yes, Captain. This is Commodore Dar Thavalan. She's the Director of Medical Services at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, which means she's over all of the hospitals in Star Fleet, floating or otherwise. She also happens to be a dear friend."

"All right. Commodore Thavalan, is it? I'm Captain James T. Kirk. What is your business on my ship?"

"Captain Kirk, my mission here is two fold. One part of it involves an extended observation of the ship's crew, with the objective of determining how long term, deep space missions affect starship crews, which will allow Starfleet to better plan medical and other personnel for those missions."

"An extended observation—meaning for how long?"

"Six to eight weeks, Doctor McCoy."

"You stated that your mission is of two parts. What is the other?"

"The other part is top secret and confidential, and I am not at liberty to share any part of that mission with you, unless it affects you directly, as I am afraid this next part does you, Captain."

His intense hazel gaze bored into her, but he didn't speak.

"Captain James T. Kirk, for the safety of yourself and the entire crew of the Enterprise, I am placing you under arrest until my mission is complete."

"On what grounds?" The Captain asked the question far too calmly for anything good to come of it.

Gazing back at him for a long moment, she said, "Suffice it to say that Starfleet has reason to believe that your presence aboard ship, or your presence in the Captain's chair, endangers your ship at this moment."

"So they sent you to take command?"

"No. I am here for the reasons I told you. Mister Spock will be the one taking command, at least for now. You will be residing at Starbase 12, for the duration of my mission. Right now, I will leave the choice with you whether you spend the remainder of the trip to Starbase 12 in your quarters or in the brig. That largely depends on whether I can trust you to stay in your quarters."

"You have my word."

"Then I won't make your own security team escort you there, but I'll be down there in a few minutes. I have a few things to attend to first."

"Before you go, Captain, I believe there's another matter that concerns yourself and the Commodore."

"What's that, Mister Spock?"

Instead of answering, Spock moved over to the computer link on the back wall of the transporter room, and said calmly, "Computer?"

"Working."

"Display record of medical personnel at the Starfleet Surgeon General's Office, Starfleet Medical Headquarters."

"Specify medical personnel."

"Commodore Dar Thavalan."

"Record exists. State security clearance access code."

"Abel, Baker, Charlie, 5-4-9-8-7-3."

"Security clearance level insufficient. Access denied." Spock raised an eyebrow, wondering if the records of every flag officer were denied to those with top secret security clearance. "Computer," he said again.

"Working."

"Access public records, Commodore Dar Thavalan."

"Ready."

"Current assignment?"

"Director of Medical Services, Starfleet Surgeon General's Office, Starfleet Command."

"Explain."

"Commodore Thavalan is in charge of every Starfleet run hospital in the universe."

"Current mission?"

"No details available."

Anyone who really knew Spock would see the frustration on his features, though he was hiding it well.

Spock looked at Doctor McCoy. "I am unable to verify her identity with StarFleet."

"I can vouch for her, Spock."

"Insufficient, Doctor. Visual verification is not adequate. Regulations require a full physical examination and comparison of the results of said examination against her medical records on file with Starfleet."

"All right, Spock. Commodore, you heard the man. Come with me, please."

She followed McCoy out of the lab to which she had beamed herself, and into a private treatment room, Spock and the Captain trailing along behind. As McCoy prepared one of the diagnostic tables for her, she turned to Spock. "Mr. Spock, while Doctor McCoy verifies my identity, I'd suggest that you contact Medical Headquarters in San Francisco, and ask for Admiral Miller. He won't give you details about my mission because, as I've already explained to you, it's top secret. He will, however, vouch that Starfleet Command sent me here to complete my mission."

"Regulations require that three officers of command grade or higher be present when the identity of an unknown officer is being verified."

"All right. We will do it together afterwards, then."With those words, she stepped up on the table, which the doctor had tilted upright, and held onto the sides while he laid it back down flat. Thirty minutes later, there was one test left for Doctor McCoy to complete. Pushing her uniform sleeve up past her elbow, he drew some blood. When he finished, he placed a small bandage and smiled as he lowered her sleeve for her, thinking he knew what was coming next. Swinging her legs over the side of the table as she sat up, she dropped to the ground in one fluid movement. Striding over to the desk in the corner of the treatment room, she toggled a switch.

"Communications." Thavalan looked at the rank on the officer's sleeve. A Lieutenant.

"Lieutenant, please get me Admiral Miller at Starfleet Medical Headquarters."

"Yes, ma'am." A moment later, the face of a taciturn red head appeared on the screen. His face broke into a smile when he saw her.

"Commodore Thavalan, I see you arrived on the Enterprise safely. Is your mission underway?"

"Not yet. Soon. I'm afraid I was held up a bit by regulations."

The Admiral frowned, and then said, "Time draws short, Commodore. Do you need help to clear the red tape?"

"No, sir," she answered, smiling widely, "but you can explain to these gentlemen that my mission is legitimate and duly authorized by Starfleet."

The Admiral's stare took in all of the men in the room, and he said, "Gentlemen, Commodore Thavalan will be spending the next six to eight weeks aboard your ship, engaged in a two-fold mission, one part of which is top secret. Let me be clear. Command will not tolerate any interference that keeps the Commodore from carrying out her orders. Doctor, the Commodore, while she is aboard your ship, has just as much authority in medical matters as you do. Commander, Commodore Thavalan is fully capable of commanding your ship, and she is fully authorized to take command if she sees fit to do so. Any interference in her mission is grounds for immediate Court Martial, and permanent loss of rank and the privileges appertaining thereto. Have I made myself clear, gentlemen?"

"Affirmative," Spock said, while McCoy and Kirk said, "Yes, sir."

"Good. You have your orders. Godspeed, Commodore. We're counting on you. Starfleet out."

She looked at Spock, her face impassive, but with a twinkle, rapidly hidden, in her eyes. "Well, Mr. Spock, are you satisfied that I am who I claim to be?" Spock nodded once, and she continued, "Gentlemen, we still have work to do, and Doctor McCoy has wasted more than enough time on me at this point. Captain, I believe you are confined to quarters. Mister Spock, we will brief the crew together at 14:00 hours. I will require some research from you at that time." She handed him a data disk. Then she turned to McCoy. "Doctor, I will be in your sickbay at 17:00 hours for inspection. Be sure you are there to accompany me."

"Yes, ma'am," the three of them said in unison, as they parted company.

(0o0)

Kirk stalked into his quarters and threw himself onto his bunk. Unable to stay there, he rose and moved to his desk chair. Finally, he settled for pacing in whatever small space his quarters allowed for such activities.

"Computer."

"Working."

"Open Captain's log."

"Ready."

"Captain's Log, Stardate 6135.4—The Enterprise is currently en route to Lugubia, to assist the doctors on that world in a medical mission. Some sort of epidemic has broken out on the planet, and my Chief Medical Officer, Doctor McCoy and his staff are working to find a cure and develop a vaccine. Since the Lugubrians closed their society to outside influence ten years ago, and requested that the records the Federation had on them be either returned or destroyed, we know very little about these people, so in many ways, this resembles a First Contact mission as well. Doctor McCoy and his staff are having to synthesize a vaccine based on physiology they've never seen, for a people they've never met, and having to depend on the accuracy of the information being relayed from the only starbase remaining in that quadrant, located on Argelius, a sister planet in the same system. The Enterprise has taken on a Commodore Thavalan from Star Fleet HQ, who is also a medical doctor. For the ship's safety, she has confined me to quarters for the duration of her mission. Though I do not understand how my being in command jeopardizes the safety of my ship, her mission is verified by StarFleet and there is nothing I can do, except wait."


	4. Chapter 4

Sarek had settled himself in the back of the shuttlecraft while his pilot and some of his staff manned the controls. They were three hours from their rendezvous with the Enterprise, and he had not been able to reach Amanda, though he tried for the entire trip. Slowing his breathing, focusing on her image, concentrating with all of his considerable strength, he reached out as far as he could go with that tenuous, incredible mind link that joined a bonded Vulcan couple. He had wondered once if the link might be diminished because she was human, but they soon determined it wasn't. If anything, the link was enhanced in some ways, simply because she was not embarrassed to love him.

She was the key holder, the one who could take the brief discomfort he felt when their fingers touched and make it something beautiful and pleasant. She was the keeper of the truth, or that which was their truth, anyway. She spoke the words of wisdom and comfort, the only one who could bring the small smile into play on his lips. Amanda, where are you? He asked the question silently, in his own mind, waiting for an answer, and when he didn't get it, allowing for a moment his stoic Vulcan persona to slip the slightest bit, knowing that he would be among Humans later, and that he mustn't allow them or his son, Spock, to see this side of him. His mind betrayed then what his heart felt, and that which was usually so well controlled, so carefully concealed in a special place inside him reserved for such things. His spirit screamed, if indeed a Vulcan spirit was capable of such things. **Amanda!** He was sure he would know if she had died, and he allowed himself to take comfort in that thought. At that moment, he didn't care one little bit whether comfort was logical or not. He knew himself to need it. Still, the idea that she was injured and in pain was almost more than he could bear, and not being able to contact her to be sure she was well was making it worse.

(0o0)

The chime sounded outside of the Captain's quarters, but he ignored it. He didn't want to see anyone at the moment. He looked up in surprise when the door whooshed open a moment later. The Commodore stood just inside the doorway at parade rest, studying him carefully. In a deathly quiet voice, masking a barely controlled fury, he said, "Commodore."

"Captain," she said, nodding curtly to him.

"I assume you are here for a purpose, so do what you came to do."

A small smile played around the Commodore's lips, and she stalked over to him. She stopped when she was standing right in front of him, and the two engaged in a staring contest. Neither of them dared blink or look away, and finally, she said, "You're angry, Captain. That's honest. I think once you hear what I have to say, you might be less angry."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

As it turned out, Kirk didn't get the chance to find out. Commodore Thavalan felt her knees buckle under her, and she felt herself pitching forward. As her world turned upside down, the darkness rose to meet her.

(0o0)

She became aware first of a lightening of the gray world she floated in. Then, a raspy voice and a hand slapping her cheek. For a moment, shapes and colors swirled around her head like she was stuck inside a kalaedascope. She finally opened her eyes to Doctor McCoy kneeling over her. She started to sit up and found herself unable to do so, though she couldn't see well enough to tell if there was something restraining her or if it was simply weakness on her part.

Running his portable medical tricorder over her, he discovered no major problems. Her blood pressure was a bit low, but that wasn't all that unusual. The Commodore, now recovering herself quickly, pushed his hands away and forced herself into a sitting position.

"Thank you, Mac. I am quite recovered now."

"All the same, I think I'll have you report to sickbay. I'd like to do some more tests."

"That's not necessary, Doctor."

"I'll decide what's necessary on this ship, madam. You can come on down to sickbay with me now, or I can confine you to your quarters, and stop by there later, when I am making my rounds." She was within her rights to argue, as she had as much authority on the ship as he did, according to Admiral Komack anyway. That authority was necessary for the mission at hand, but she understood the importance of using it when she needed it and therefore, not abusing it at other times. So, she decided not to press the issue until the day came when she really had to do so, and she knew that day would come, so she simply followed him down to sickbay without comment.

Commodore Thavalan was growing impatient at this second visit to sickbay. Several hours had passed while he performed his tests, and she still had her own work to do. "Thank you, Doctor. If you are finished with your tests for the moment, I will return to my quarters. I have much work to do before I meet with Mr. Spock this afternoon."

"I don't think so, Commodore. I think you need to stay here and rest, at least until the blood tests come back."

"I wish I could, but I can't."

"Medical orders, Commodore." So, the day came sooner than expected. Well then.

"Dr. McCoy, you cannot order me to stay here. I have as much authority on this ship during my mission as you do."

"We're a long way from Headquarters out here, ma'am. My authority on this ship is supported both by regulation and practice. Yours, even if it has been approved by Starfleet, doesn't supersede my authority as CMO. As Chief Medical Officer on this ship, I will tell you what you need and what you don't, when it comes to your health."

"Doctor, I trust you understand the position in which you are placing yourself. I don't think you want to quote regulations to me, I wrote most of the medical ones. The only way you could order me to stay here would be if going to my quarters put the rest of the ship at undue risk. It doesn't."

"I'm not so sure about that, Commodore. In the first place, we don't know what you have. It could be contagious."

"It isn't."

"In the second, it could disrupt the normal flow of ship operations."

"It won't."

"How do you know?" She hesitated for just a split second, and then decided against telling him how she knew, for the moment. She trusted him, she would not have chosen this ship first if she hadn't, but there was a proper time for these things, and this was not it. It should still be too early to show up in her blood, and if she told him, that would delay her mission considerably. Instead, she tried the argument from a different angle.

"Doctor, do you trust me?"

"You know the answer to that, but please don't ask me to put our friendship above my professional responsibilities. I just can't, Dee."

"I am not asking you to do that, Mac, and you know I wouldn't. You just expressed proper concern about whether my illness would endanger the rest of the ship. You know me well, both personally and professionally. Do you really think I would do anything to endanger this ship?"

"Not on purpose. You are asking me to trust you. I have to ask you—do you know what is wrong with you?"

"Not exactly. If it is anything more than fainting from an environment to which I am not accustomed, it can only be one of two or three afflictions that affect my people, and none of those pose a danger to anyone else. The classified part of my mission here is very important. I must talk to the Captain again, as well as to Commander Spock before the briefing. Plans have already been put into play—plans that could endanger the Enterprise if she isn't prepared for the mission. If you will allow me to go to my quarters, I promise I will rest between meeting with Kirk and Spock and the briefing. I don't know that this is anything serious. People faint for many reasons, and Andorians for more reasons than most. If it is, we will deal with it at a more appropriate time."

McCoy grumbled something about doctors making the worst patients, and then said, "All right, Commodore. I trust you. Please don't make me regret that decision. I will escort you to your quarters."

(0o0)

At 12:29 precisely, Spock waited quietly in the transporter room. Scott was operating the controls himself, at the Vulcan's request. There was unease to the Vulcan that worried Scott. A moment later, Dr. McCoy walked in. Spock nodded to him, and McCoy nodded back. He was uncharacteristically silent, watching Spock carefully. Apparently, he noticed something as well. The comm. link whistled at that moment, and Scott toggled the switch to answer it.

"Transporter room. Scott here." He heard the voice of Lieutenant Uhura on the other end of the connection. "USS Liberty reports ready for transfer, sir."

"Thank ye, Lieutenant."

"Energize, Mr. Scott." Scott's hands worked the levers on the transporter console, and a moment later, an austere and regal looking Vulcan was coalescing in a column of sparkling lights. As soon as the lights disappeared, Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan stepped off the transporter platform, as Spock stepped forward.

"Ambassador," Spock said, raising his hand in the salute.

"Spock."Sarek inclined his head toward his son, returning the salute. The word hung in the air for a moment, and then Sarek continued. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately, my son?" Nodding once, Spock turned and walked through the transporter room doors and into the hallway beyond, his father keeping stride with him. McCoy trailed along behind them, out the doors and into the hallway.

"I don't think so, Mr. Spock." Sarek turned and looked at the doctor as though he'd never seen him before.

"Explain, Doctor." McCoy looked at Spock, not really wanting to make an issue in front of his father, but unable to justify allowing him to go looking like he did. Spock inclined his head slightly, as if giving his permission to discuss this in front of his father. Sarek had asked for the explanation, but McCoy addressed Spock.

"Mr. Spock, I am concerned about you. You've not slept in over fourteen days, and you've not eaten at all today. Now, I know Vulcans do that sometimes and it may be perfectly normal, but judging by the looks of you, I think it is wearing on you."

"Ah, then you feel it, too," Sarek said, quietly, looking at his son. Spock nodded once, but said nothing. He turned to continue walking down the hall, his father next to him and the doctor trailing a bit behind. When they reached his quarters, Spock ushered them both inside and motioned them to seats. He sat behind his desk, long fingers steepled in front of him, lips pursed, eyes burning more than usual. Finally, he said, "Doctor McCoy, I must speak with my father privately, in regards to what we were just discussing. I cannot share it with you, nor can I explain it in a way you would understand it. Please excuse us, Doctor."

"No dice, Spock. I am not letting you out of my sight. If you can talk to your father in front of me, I will allow the discussion, but if not, I am sorry Spock, Sarek, I just won't take the chance." A flare of electricity seemed to pass between the Vulcans, and Spock raised his hand as if he would meld with his father, but halfway to Sarek's face, a large hand closed on his arm in a vice like grip.

"No, that would not be prudent. We do not know what is wrong. I think, in this case, we might safely speak in front of an outworlder. I understand this man stood with you at your koon-ut-kal-if-fee. He knows something of Vulcan mysticism. Also, he has a duty to be concerned about your health. You must not deny him his duty." Spock remained impassive for a moment, and then spoke.

"Doctor, what do you know about telepathic contact?"

"I understand the concept, but the only firsthand experience I've had has been on this ship."

"Describe the experience for me."

"You know the experience better than I do, Spock."

"Humor me."

"All right. It is difficult to describe. I feel a presence in my mind that is different from what is usually there, and then I experience thoughts that aren't mine, as though I am the one thinking them. I see images clearly—and I know they belong to someone else. That's how it is at the beginning. At the end, it is as though the thoughts and images and the presence really are mine, and yet, not. I don't know how else to describe it."

"Sufficient, Doctor. That's precisely the way I would describe it as well, normally. Now…it seems that the thoughts and images have a veil over them, or are coming through a room filled with smoke and noise."

"Spock, are you saying that your telepathic radar has gone haywire?" McCoy asked, alarmed.

"Crudely expressed, but essentially correct." McCoy noticed that the Vulcan was not quite meeting his eyes.

"Do you know what it means, Spock?"

"It usually signifies interference of some kind, either on my end or the other. This time, it is illogical that it would be caused by something I did, since by my father's comments, I am inclined to believe he is experiencing precisely the same event."

"I have only seen it this strong in the presence of alien life forms," Sarek said, thoughtfully.

"Could we be causing it somehow, Spock? Humans, I mean," McCoy asked.

"That is illogical. Interaction with your people has never caused it before."

"Some kind of different technology on the ship, then?"

"Unknown at present, Dr. McCoy."

"What do you need, Spock? I will help you if you tell me how." It was Sarek who spoke. "The logical first step would be to check the ship for the presence of alien life forms."

"Agreed," Spock said softly. He toggled a switch on his desk. Lieutenant Uhura's face came up on the screen. She started to smile, and then smoothed her face to neutral once again, since she knew it was not necessary to smile at Spock, nor would it be returned. "Miss Uhura, please ask two members of the security team to meet me in my quarters."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Spock out." He turned to McCoy, but was interrupted before he could speak by the intercom's whistle. Opening the channel again, he fully expected to see Lieutenant Uhura telling him something she had forgotten. Instead, Commodore Thavalan looked back at him.

"Commodore."

"Mr. Spock. Is Dr. McCoy there with you?"

"Yes."

"Please meet me in Briefing Room 2 as soon as possible. I have something of some import to discuss with you. Bring your father and the good doctor with you."

"I am on my way. Spock out." He closed the channel, and turned once again to Dr. McCoy, who acknowledged him by holding a hypospray to his upper arm. One eyebrow quirked upward, and the look was reciprocated by McCoy, who answered the unspoken question. "Stimulant shot. Your readings are bad, Spock, even for you. I really want you to rest, but this will do, for the time being."

"Doctor McCoy, sometimes I am forced to wonder whether you might have some latent powers of telepathy that your file overlooks." Whatever McCoy had expected Spock to say, it certainly wasn't that. A dozen or more retorts ran through the doctor's head, but they all seemed wrong somehow. Finally, he said, "You never know, Spock. You just never know."


	5. Chapter 5

The two security guards that Spock had ordered arrived just as Spock and the others were preparing to leave his quarters. He spoke quietly to them, rapidly giving them orders to scan the ship for alien life forms. When they walked into Briefing Room 2, Kirk's senior officers were surprised to see that both Sarek and Kirk were already present for the briefing. Without knowing what the nature of the classified mission was, Spock could only have people with a top level security clearance present, and that was only four people on the whole ship, plus Ambassador Sarek.

"Please, be seated, gentlemen." They all sat down. A moment later, the door opened, and Commodore Thavalan stalked inside. Her eyes were narrowed, and her voice tight, when she said, "Captain, I believe you are supposed to be in your quarters."

"My apologies, Commodore. I was hoping you would allow me to be involved in the briefing."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Captain. Your choices are your quarters or the Brig. Choose wisely, Captain. I'll be down to see you, shortly."

Making eye contact with his first officer, Kirk said, "Keep my ship safe." Spock nodded once. Kirk left, reluctantly.

Looking at the rest of the men assembled there, she said, "First, I will tell you that I will be spending the next five or six weeks aboard your ship. My mission is two-fold. The first part, as you might have guessed, is an inspection of your sick bay, and evaluation of the medical staff aboard this ship. That is also the shortest part of my mission. The second part, and the one that will be far more time consuming, I think, is to observe the crew in a variety of situations. Starfleet Medical is studying how starship crews react to stressful situations, in order to decide whether more training is needed in this area at the Academy, and with a secondary, long term goal of deciding whether psychologists and psychiatrists should be added to the medical staff of starships. I will be accompanying your landing parties when they explore, and I will be speaking to everyone on this ship at some time or other. I will try very hard to respect your duty roster, although that may not always be possible. I will expect your cooperation during those times when unexpected things happen. Any questions?"

"Commodore, I do not have any questions, but I would like to be clear. I have been charged by the Captain with protecting this ship. I will not tolerate any orders that put this crew at risk or make it harder for them to do their jobs. It matters little to me who issues them."

"Mister Spock, I am not here to hurt anyone. Please understand that the Starfleet Surgeon General's office gives me just as much authority on this ship as your Chief Medical Officer has, and I should tell you that I have the full backing of Starfleet Command, and that they will not tolerate any interference that keeps me from doing my job. I am here to help, to catch those crewmen that may be on the edge before disciplinary issues happen, and when they do happen, to evaluate the root causes and try to keep them from happening again. If you will trust me to do my job, you might find not only that I know what I am doing, but also that I can be of benefit to the crew of this ship.

"Now, a few words about your primary mission. As you all know, two days ago, Starfleet Headquarters received a distress signal from Lugubria. The people are becoming violently ill, and no one knows why. When I say violently ill, I mean just that, gentlemen. Those who suffer from the disease grow more violent as it progresses, and wreak havoc, until they collapse, comatose. Their scientists are stumped. Your mission is to help the medical personnel on the planet determine the problem and effective treatment options.

"Be warned. We know very little about these people, other than they joined the Federation twelve years ago, and we built a starbase there. Ten years ago, they closed it, and when they did, they closed their society along with it. We don't know exactly why that happened, but they never renounced their Federation membership. The world did, however, request the records that the Federation kept in Memory Alpha be returned or destroyed, and thus, none of our ships can access that information at this time. We have requested that they give us records for research, but so far, they haven't done so. We may be flying blind on this one, gentlemen. They are humanoid in appearance, and probably the most human-like beings in the galaxy. Don't make the mistake of assigning human characteristics to them. In looks, they are very like humans, in actions, quite different.

"Doctor, you will be the Medical officer in charge on Lugubria. Once there, the ship and crew are at your disposal for whatever you need, as long as we can be. If we have to leave for any reason, we will do so after other ships arrive, so you won't be without shuttle service for supplies, if needed. Other Federation worlds have ships in route, and once they make planet fall, all of them will answer to you. Now, if there are no further questions, Gentlemen, this briefing is adjourned."

She stopped at the door, and turned back to face them. "Remember, all of you, that this is a classified mission. Nothing that was said here goes outside these four walls."

She paused for a moment, watching Mr. Scott leave.

"Mr. Spock!"

He looked at her inquisitively.

"I would like a word with you." Almost imperceptibly, Spock glanced at Dr. McCoy who shrugged slightly. Spock stood at parade rest, hands behind his back, the picture of polite interest. Sarek and Dr. McCoy started to leave the room, and Commodore Thavalan stepped over to them.

"Stay with us, please."

When they were all seated again, Dr. Thavalan looked at Spock. "Commander, I asked to speak to all of you because I have some bad news for you and the Ambassador. As your CMO, Dr. McCoy also needs to know." Her face was impassive, but her voice gentled just the slightest bit.

"You were too far away to receive a subspace hail when we received the news at Starfleet HQ." She was carefully looking everywhere but at Spock, out of respect for any emotions he might not mean to show. She continued, "We received word last evening that your mother has been abducted."

"How?" McCoy asked.

"Nearest my colleagues can figure, she was working outside of her home in Shi' Kahr, and was literally abducted from the garden."

Spock said nothing, but there was something moving behind his eyes—a fierceness that left no doubt in anyone's mind as to which of the two cultures of his parents he'd embraced the most fully. Of all the things Bones had experienced in his travels throughout the galaxy, Spock's countenance at that moment was the most disturbing. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled, but it contained an edge that few ever heard there. Spock looked to where his father was seated, and asked, "How long have you known?"

Sarek looked mildly uncomfortable, if such a thing were possible for a Vulcan. Finally, he said, "I lost all mental contact with your mother while I was en route to rendezvous with this ship. The bond remains intact, so I know she lives; however, beyond that, I am…uncertain. I thought it was the interference of which we spoke earlier, which kept us from being able to speak mind to mind. The interference intensified as my shuttle moved closer to this vessel. Had we been able to finish our private conversation, we would have discussed this, my son."

"Commodore, I wish to request shore leave in order to retrieve my mother."

"I'm sorry, Commander, but that isn't possible. You must be here to assist in the command of this ship until the Captain is able to take over again. Don't worry. We will do everything possible to assist the Vulcan authorities in recovering your mother." Spock nodded grimly, and Dr. Thavalan saw that veil of Vulcan calm wash back over his features, but he was not altogether steady. Apparently, McCoy noticed as well. He spoke first. "Spock, I want you to come on down to sickbay and rest for a couple of hours." Seeing the look on Spock's face, he said, "Medical orders, Mr. Spock."

The Vulcan started to say something, but Dee cut him off. "Don't argue with him, Spock. You don't need to be on the bridge right now."

"Doctor, I think I'd like to be alone. Will it satisfy you if I go to my quarters?"

"I'll walk with you." Spock was in no mood to argue, and he knew McCoy would be satisfied if he allowed the doctor to accompany him to his quarters. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked back the way he'd come, down the hallway and into the turbolift. He ordered it to stop on the floor that held his quarters. Dr. McCoy followed close behind him, careful not to touch him, although he doubted that the Vulcan would object too strongly at the moment. When they reached Spock's quarters, he paused outside the door.

"Thank you, Doctor McCoy. You may return to sickbay now. I will rest."

"I don't think so, Mr. Spock. Your human half, that part of you that came from your mother, must be in great pain right now. I won't ask you to talk about it because I know that won't happen, but I'd like to stay—at least for a little while."

"I said I wished to be alone, Doctor."

"I understand. Give yourself at least two hours, and then come on down to sickbay and check in with me, so I can clear you for duty before you go back to the bridge. As of right now, you are grounded, until you come to see me."

"Understood, Doctor."

Spock disappeared behind his door, into the safety of his own cabin, and stretched out on his bunk. The mask fell away, and to his shame, he felt the usually well controlled emotions that he kept so carefully in check, rise within him.

(0o0)

After Spock left, Commodore Thavalan looked at Ambassador Sarek and asked, "What is it you require for your mission, Ambassador?"

"A shuttlecraft and a pilot to start. I must attend to something that has bearing on my mission, and then I will return here."

"May I suggest a couple of security guards to add to your list?"

"I do not believe that is necessary, Commodore."

"Perhaps not, but Sarek, I am concerned. Starfleet makes it a practice to run any news of this nature through Intelligence agencies, just to see what they make of it, and in this case, they suspect that someone may be trying to get to you and to Spock through Lady Amanda. I just want to be sure that this mission of yours is not playing right into their hands. You would be a powerful pawn, for someone. As would Spock. Together, doubly so. Yet, they have concluded that you are safer together than you would be separately."

'That is assuming I cooperated with them. I would not. Neither would Spock, certainly."

"Everyone has a price, Sarek. You might be surprised what you might do, if they found yours. Please forgive me if I am overstepping, but I would think that your wife would come close to being that price for you, not to mention a newly reunited son. Your regard for your wife is well known throughout the galaxy. Life of a public figure, I'm afraid."

"Commodore, I will consider your suggestion. Your concern is logical, and I find, not without merit."

"Thank you, Ambassador. If you will excuse me, I must speak to Captain Kirk. "

(0o0)

Kirk was pacing the confines of his cabin. When he heard the door chime sound, he paced back over and pushed the release to open the door. When he saw the Commodore, his jaw tightened.

"Captain, I'm sorry to take so long to get to the part you play in this mission." She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "You've been selected for a special mission. You may choose one or two persons to accompany you, but not Mr. Spock. I don't want to leave the Enterprise bereft of its two most senior officers."

"Commodore, I don't understand."

"This mission is highly classified. Only those with top level security clearance may know anything of it, and the fewer who know, the better. Therefore, no one on your ship may know anything while still on board, regardless of security clearance." Kirk nodded, and she continued. "All right, then. The Enterprise, under the command of Bob Wesley, will handle the crisis on Lugubria, then rendezvous with Ambassador Sarek's shuttle. The ship will escort him to negotiate an extremely sensitive matter of great importance to the Federation. You, along with the personnel you choose to accompany you, are going in to retrieve Lady Amanda of Vulcan. Then, you will rendezvous with the Enterprise and ensure that both the Ambassador and his wife make it back to Vulcan safely. The rumor is that the Lady Amanda was abducted because someone is trying to get to the Ambassador through his family. Neither Spock nor Sarek are safe, but they will be safer together than they would separately."

"If Bob Wesley is commanding my ship, who's commanding his?"

"His First is in line for a ship of his own, but Starfleet has had cause to doubt whether he is ready. This will be a good test run for him, what with his own starship crew and another captain and crew to support him. If he gets into any trouble, he has close to seventy years of command experience to draw on between the three of us."

"So Bob Wesley will be the fleet commander for the mission?"

"It looks that way."

"My crew is very close. They don't deserve to be kept in the dark on a matter of this importance."

"I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be at the moment. That falls into the purview of my mission, and I can say nothing of it. Perhaps you will be able to tell them at a later time, and if not, they will know, soon enough."

"When do we leave?"

"Intelligence tells us that the interception point will be a twenty-four hour journey for this ship, but the ship they are on will not pass that close to Enterprise's position for another four days. That gives you three days to get ready, one day for travel, and then you must complete your mission. Are you up for that, Captain?"

"Yes, I am."

"You may choose two people to accompany you on this mission, but not Mr. Spock. I will not leave the Enterprise bereft of command personnel. Remember, you can tell them nothing until you are underway. Lives depend on this, so be certain."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have you someone in mind to accompany you?"

"How many of my personnel are you allowing me, Commodore?"

Smiling slightly, she said, "I know you would take the whole ship if you could, Captain, but Bob will need a few of your people to help him run this ship, if you would like it returned to you in one piece, and I still have a job to do-one that requires access to your people. Still, I think we can spare one or two for your cause. Will that be sufficient?"

Kirk nodded.

(0o0)

Spock had stretched out on the bunk in his quarters, trying to calm the deep disquiet that had taken hold of him more completely than ever before. He had been lying there for a while, and usually he would be able to calculate precisely how long that was, but right now, he could not do so. He needed, once again, to find that reserve of Vulcan calm that was usually inside him, so that he could reach out to his mother. He slowed his breathing, attempting to concentrate on his private meditations, but he kept seeing his mother's face. Right now, he was powerless to stop the images invading his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. Finally, he rose, preparing to make his way down to sickbay to obtain McCoy's permission to go back to work. He needed to think about something else for a while.

The chime outside his door sounded, and he thought it was probably the captain. Although he did not want to see anyone, really, Jim was his commanding officer, and he'd been a friend to him, in more definitions of that word than he'd realized existed, for as long as they'd known one another. Spock owed him no less than to allow him to come in. Sighing deeply, he said, "Come." Spock did not see the Captain when he came in, since he had his back to the door, and could not bring himself to turn around and acknowledge the visitor. His control was still shaky, and he did not wish to show that part of himself to anyone.

"Spock," a quiet voice, not at all like the Captain's, said. He started, and at last he turned slowly to face his visitor. His features showing just the slightest hint of surprise, he hastily started to come to attention, but then a hand came up in a decidedly non-Starfleet, but rather universal gesture that meant he should rest easy. She regarded him intently for a moment, and if he had not known better, he'd have thought she was reading his body language and mental discharges to see how he was, but that was not possible, since Andorians were not a telepathic race. Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she said, "If you cannot quiet your mind, you'll never be able to reach your mother. My knowledge of the Vulcan mental disciplines is limited, but if I am not mistaken, you can reach her, even though she's not telepathic. Can't you?" While she was talking, she dialed the food synthesizers to give her a pot of hot water. When it came, she withdrew a pouch from her pocket, drew out a handful of leaves, and threw them into the pot. Spock eyed the teapot and his visitor somewhat warily. "What do you know about Vulcan mental disciplines?"

"Not nearly as much as I know about making Vulcan spiced tea, and that's not saying much." The tea had steeped long enough now, so she poured it into the cups, threw some more ground herbs, of a different kind, into the cups and swirled them around to mix them. She put one down in front of her own place, and slid one across the desk from her. Mechanically, Spock sat.

"Drink that. You need something in your stomach." She sipped hers as she sat watching him. He picked up the cup, recognizing a medical order when he heard one, and sipped it. He was pleased to find that it tasted precisely like it was supposed to taste.

"You are the first non-Vulcan I have ever known who could stand to drink this tea. Where did you learn to make it?"

"I lived on Vulcan while I was in medical school, but it was my mother who taught me how to make it. How many Andorians do you know who have pointed ears, and no antennae?"

Spock's eyes lightened as though presented the obvious answer to a mystery that had been bothering him. "So, you are half Vulcan and half Andorian?"

"I believe that's what I just said."

"So you are telepathic?"

"By nature yes, but not by training."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I have the gifts of both my parents, but I grew up on Andor. I was not subjected to the training that most Vulcan children are adept at by the time they are six years old. Spock, I know enough about Vulcan mental disciplines to know that they are a very private affair, however, if you are agreeable, I think I might be able to help you reach the Lady Amanda."

"How? You stated already that you are not equipped with the training to do such as this."

"That's true, but I do possess the strength and the focus that you are lacking right now. If you can trust me to do so, I believe I can lend you the strength to find that place within yourself from where you can speak to your mother, mind to mind." Almost imperceptibly, Spock inclined his head slightly, and she held up both hands, palms facing outward, watching him closely as she did so. Very slowly, he lifted his hands to hers, until only the tips of their fingers brushed lightly together. A jolt of electricity shot through them both, and then a wave of calm washed over them. For the first time in over an hour, Spock felt centered again. Leaning on her strength, he took the time to slow his breathing and sharpen his focus.

Finally, he reached out to his mother, and though she could not answer him in the same manner a telepath would, he read her emotional state almost immediately. She had always been very careful not to show too much emotion, since she lived among Vulcans, but strong emotion was difficult to block out, even for a well-trained telepath, and she was seriously injured and badly frightened, which caused her emotions to burst forth through the tight control she used to hold them in check. He heard nothing articulate, and it would have been inaccurate to say that they spoke, there was too much distance between them, and her mind was too scattered at the moment for that, but he sensed her fear, the weakness from her injuries, and he sent thoughts and images to reassure her. No matter that he did not feel all that reassured himself.

When convinced that he had done all he could to reassure her, Spock came back to himself slowly, opening eyes he'd not realized were closed, and very cautiously drew his hands away from hers. When he did so, she stood up very slowly, as though dazed.

"Commodore, are you all right?"

"Yes, Mr. Spock. I am well. I'm glad you were able to reach your mother. McCoy's two hours are almost up, and you seem much steadier now. If you wait another half hour or so, then he will probably let you go back to work. I will be in my quarters. Call me if you need me."

(0o0)

Lieutenant Uhura was in a bad mood. She lifted her tray from the synthesizer a little bit impatiently and moved to find a table in the ship's main dining facility. The alarm in her cabin had malfunctioned, and then she had been delayed with personnel issues this morning, and as a result she was running a tad late, and would be cutting it fine to make it to the bridge on time for her shift. She had to be there half an hour earlier than the other Alpha shift officers, in order to check her equipment and re-wire any circuits that might have gotten crossed over night. Looking around, her impatience grew as she noticed that every table was full. She saw motion out of the corner of her eye that drew her attention. Looking up, she saw two familiar figures waving her toward their table. Distractedly, she made her way toward them as the two went back to their conversation.

"Did you hear Mister Spock and Dr. McCoy discussing Lugubria?"

Lieutenant Uhura stiffened in her chair. Lugubria. Oh, please, no. Goodness no. Not right now. Please, not right now. She forced herself to breathe deeply and tried to bring her mind back to some semblance of calm from the absolute terror invoked by the mention of a name she had not heard in more than ten years, a place she thought she had put behind her.

"—them talk, it is more fascinating than anything we've run into in a long time. So, Pavel, are you planning to join the landing party?"

"I vill wolunteer, but I don't know if Captain Kirk vill let me go."

"Both of you would be smarter to stay on the ship for this mission, gentlemen," she snapped abruptly. Both Sulu and Chekov looked at her as though she had slapped them. They blinked at each other. Neither of them had ever heard their friend speak this way before, using that tone of voice. They were not sure what to think. Before they had the opportunity to respond in any way, she rose abruptly, snatched her tray off the table, and they watched in stunned silence as she crossed the room and slammed the tray down on top of the disposal chute, violently jabbing the buttons that would clean it and whisk it off back down to the kitchens to await transport once more. Then she stalked to the door, uncomfortably aware of the eyes on her from around the room.

"Vhat's vrong vith her?"

"I don't know, Pavel, but I intend to find out. Come on, we'll be late for duty if we don't get back to the bridge." The two junior officers rode the turbolift up to the bridge, and when it stopped, they took their places, noticing that three of the ship's four most senior officers were all on the bridge at the same time, which usually meant that something serious was going on. Strategically, it was not a smart move to have all those with appropriate levels of command experience in the one place where, if there was an accident, they would all be destroyed at the same time, potentially leaving the ship without a command staff, and having learned that lesson early on, Commodore Thavalan hardly ever took the chance. Today, given the circumstances, she didn't have much choice. Unfortunately, this meant that Uhura was feeling the full brunt of the Commodore's tongue in front of almost all of the senior officers on the ship. She stood stiffly at attention facing Dee, who was standing in the area immediately in front of the command chair.

"Lieutenant, would you care to explain your tardiness?"

"No sir, I wouldn't," she replied tartly, and an audible intake of breath traveled around the bridge. Spock raised an eyebrow. She would catch hell for that one. Nobody would have been foolish enough to address Kirk in that manner, and they all knew what the Captain's reaction would be to anyone addressing any senior officer in that manner. Sulu cringed as Dee's eyes narrowed and a muscle began working in her jaw. "At least, not with so many people around," she amended, somewhat sheepishly.

"All right," she said slowly, in a dangerously calm tone that was so much like a cat playing with its captive mouse before springing on it and devouring it. "Lieutenant Uhura, you will go to your quarters and stay there until I call you. Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, you are with me. Lieutenant Sulu, you have the conn. Please call Mr. Palmer and Mr. Stiles to the bridge. Chekov, you will act as science duty officer until Mr. Spock returns to the bridge. Gentlemen, if anything comes up, call me."

"Aye, sir."


End file.
